Champagne and MiniGolf
by Ziegod Lizski
Summary: Through a game of minigolf, Draco Malfoy discovers that it's impossible to be both evil and incredibly good-looking and that a certain red-headed vixen is not as mental as she seems. Warning: don't read if you take yourself too seriously!


It was a perfectly lovely day. Well, it was a perfectly lovely day in England, which meant that it was drizzling and only slightly overcast, and it didn't smell too bad. Of course, what made it an especially lovely day was that it was Harry Potter's birthday, also known in some circles (particularly in Ireland) as National Get Thoroughly Pissed Day. The Weasleys, being the Weasleys, were delighted to have the strapping young lad share this auspicious day with them. Arthur however, had decided the day would be best spent discovering the muggle sport of golf. Yet, a trip to the famous courses in Scotland was far beyond the Weasley's meager budget, so the family opted to visit the local minigolf course.   
  
Oh my! exclaimed Ginny, bringing her Damsel-in-Distress hands to her Damsel-in-Distress face, Is that--it can't be--Draco Malfoy?  
  
She swooned; fortunately, Harry came to her rescue because, well, he was Harry.  
  
Ron's lanky frame stiffened as the dark-marked hottie approached in his usual swagger, wearing a look of sadistic glee on his face.  
  
Ah, couldn't afford the beach for your summer vacation this year, huh, Weasel?  
  
And what are _you_ doing in a muggle minigolf course? Trying to find your _real_ father? Ron tried to hold himself together as he said this. After all, Hermione was watching him. And Hermione was dead sexy.  
  
Haha! Your wit, Weasley, it is biting! I'm here studying the filthy creatures. You know--know thine enemy, he shot a meaningful look at Hermione. I hear this golf game is quite popular. Of course, any simpleton could master this ridiculous game.  
  
Oh really, said Harry, stepping forward and puffing out his chest (complete with newly acquired pectoralis muscles), Ten galleons says you lose to me. It'll be just like Quidditch.  
  
But Harry, hissed Hermione, It's your birthday!  
  
Nothing would make it sweeter, he replied, wearing his trademark look of heroic determination.  
  
***  
  
The first hole. Draco furrowed his elegantly sculpted eyebrows in concentration. The object was to get the snitch-sized, fluorescent colored ball to go through the hole in a miniature windmill by whacking it with a long, metal stick.   
  
Right then, he mumbled and took a hard whack at the ball, which shot out, hitting a rotund, spheroid, elderly woman in the head.  
  
Wow Potter! he declared, simpering, This is indeed more fun than Quidditch!  
  
He then proceeded to whack all the balls at passersby...He was indeed a death eater with a vengeance.  
  
***  
  
Around the fifth hole, Hermione and Ron wandered off, saying that they had important research to do. The excuse was unnecessary, though, as the whole world knew they thought each other shagilicious. Ginny, who had an extremely short attention span due to repeated head injuries in the Chamber of Secrets, began to bounce up and down impatiently.   
  
Can I play? Can I play? Huh? Huh?   
  
Both boys answered together with a resounding   
  
I knew it! she huffed, Everybody just thinks of me as Ron's annoying little sister! But I'm actually a sexy little vixen! Her tone of voice changed to that of an arousing woman.   
  
Harry, for once, gave her a good look. She did have a point; she was really rather hot. Hot in that creepy sort of way that vampire chicks are hot. Harry drooled, mumbling something that sounded like Vampire Chicks...  
  
Look, er, Ginny, said Draco in a reasonable tone, Why don't you be Harry's cheerleader?  
  
Ginny said as she flipped her deliciously shiny hair behind her shoulder.   
  
She squealed, conjuring herself up a tiny green cheer leading uniform that said Hooray for Everybody, complete with matching pompoms. Worst of all, she started to do cartwheels. But because she shared Ron's out-of-proportion body, she resembled a horny gazelle doing somersaults.   
  
You know, said Draco, giving Ginny a thorough look, I dig cheerleaders.  
  
chirped Ginny, bouncing over to him.  
  
Oh yeah...Is that an astronaut skirt, cause your booty is out of this world!   
  
Rolling his eyes, Harry turned around and began beating himself over the head with his putter.   
  
Suddenly, our scar-faced hero noticed that he had a mosquito bite that was swelling up rather nastily on his arm.  
  
he screamed, waving his putter at invisible mosquitoes, I've got Legionnaire's disease!   
  
No, numbnuts, said Draco, briefly removing his head from the snog session with Ginny, That's West Nile Virus.  
  
And so the day went on, Draco snogging cheerleader!Ginny and Harry yelling Die Mosquitos, die! and maniacally scratching himself as he foamed at the mouth.  
  
***  
  
Draco Malfoy woke the next morning with the nagging sensation that he had done something horribly, horribly wrong, and a splitting headache didn't improve his mood.   
  
Had it been a muggle killing? No, he had the feeling that it was something much worse---something as bad as making friends with the Gryffindors.  
  
Oh _no_. It all came back. Not only had he become chummy with the pinnacles of bloody braveness, he had snogged a Weasley.   
  
This was when Draco realized that he was not, as he had thought in the gray early morning light, at the Malfoy Manor. The first thing that tipped him off was the smell--a combination of rose musk and maple syrup; the Malfoy home smelled more clean, like a hospital. This place smelled like -- well, like an actual home.   
  
He fumbled to turn on the magilamp on the night stand, squinting his eyes at the new light. The moment his eyes adjusted, he wished they hadn't. The room was creepier than Voldemort's---everything was pink, and the large shrine to Harry Potter on the left wall tipped him off to exactly where he was: the red-haired, sexy psychopath's bed chamber._  
  
Must find a way out._  
  
Using his sneaky ferret skills, he crept down the staircase and slunk into the living room, where he found Ginny on the couch where she had spent the night. She was reading a book that had a title that Draco wished he hadn't seen.   
  
Ooh! Mummy! Drakiekins is awake! she squealed, looking at him as though he were a stray, albino puppy. Her eyes pleaded, Can we keep him?  
  
Hullo there Draco! chirped the matronly woman Draco knew from Daily Prophet pictures as Molly Weasley, You and Harry weren't feeling very well yesterday. We couldn't find your parents -- we tried reaching them through the floo network, but we only found a house elf, who informed us that they were on vacation -- so we brought you back here. Would you like something to eat?  
  
She shot him a look of genuine sympathy.   
  
Well, _dandy_. There was one thing Draco hated more than anything in the world, and that was people trying to understand him. They tried to reason his behavior by deeming him the poor, ickle victim of Death Eaters, domestic abuse, and neglect. Truth be told, he rather liked the general stereotype of himself -- that he was evil. Flitty gits like Parvati Patil, believing that no one could be incredibly good-looking and evil all at the same time, were always trying to understand him.   
  
But there was Mrs. Weasley, smiling brightly at him and holding a plate of heart-shaped pancakes. Draco sighed. There was just no resisting heart-shaped pancakes.  
  
***  
  
If Draco had felt anymore at home, he would have dyed his hair red. Well, except that he had the suspicion that Ginny wanted to tie him up in chains and keep him for herself in the scary pink room.  
  
_Mental note: avoid being alone with psychopathic, cherry-maned vixen._  
  
The Weasley family and its extended members were enjoying a scrumptious feast of heart-shaped pancakes, and Draco sincerely hoped that the warm, fuzzy feeling in his stomach was merely indigestion. His weak, caviar-raised stomach simply was not used to all this comfort food, he reasoned, reaching for a cinnamon roll adorned with pink frosting.  
  
That was when he noticed the large, red insect bite on his paper white arm, which identically matched the one on Harry's, causing him to drop the pastry onto Ginny Weasley's lap. She shot him a hungry look, which he tried to ignore.  
  
_So this is why I've been able to stay in the Weasley house without breaking out in hives!_ I've got West Nile Virus! he thought, _I'm still my evil self!_  
  
But there was only one person in this house smart enough to help him. He shot a particularly meaningful glance at Hermione. Thanks to a recent makeover, she was really quite a hottie. Of course, he wondered how smart the mudblood really was if she had the poor taste to date a Weasley.  
  
Draco chose to ignore the fact that he had spent the previous day snogging a Weasley on a muggle minigolf course.  
  
It was just the West Nile Virus messing with his perfectly groomed head.   
  
Wasn't it?   
  
_Wasn't it?_  
  
  
***  
  
I got the idea for this fic while, you guessed it, playing minigolf. I'd never written a D/G before, but I gave it a whirl because they're an interesting couple. Special thanks to my beta Erin! Please review and let me know that I'm not crazy.


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